The news that Su Wanning had revived Zhang’s supposedly lifeless grandson spread like wildfire, sweeping through every corner of Hongqi Farm overnight. Even Old Wang on the west side of the village, the one least inclined to join in gossip, knew that the Lu family had welcomed a city-born daughter-in-law with “divine powers.”
Early the next morning, the atmosphere in the Lu household was subtly different.
At breakfast, everyone from the first and second branches behaved like quails, even the clatter of chopsticks against bowls was noticeably softer. Especially Li Cuifen, who kept her head almost buried in her bowl of cornmeal porridge, too ashamed to even glance at Su Wanning—after having gossiped about her behind her back yesterday, she didn’t dare lift her eyes today.
Chen Xiulian, whose perspective had changed with her rebirth, acted as if she didn’t notice the unusually quiet breakfast. When she served the porridge, she quietly scooped the only egg from the pot and placed it steadily in Su Wanning’s bowl.
“Plop.” The egg landed in the bowl, splashing a few drops of porridge.
Everyone in the Lu household froze, even stopping mid-bite. Normally, any special food would go straight to her sons or grandsons, especially Lu Dabao. Any egg would have been his. Yet this was the first time she had so openly given the best item to a daughter-in-law who hadn’t even officially joined the family!
Su Wanning glanced at Chen Xiulian, reading a spark of warmth and satisfaction in her eyes—her aunt’s attitude was completely different from yesterday. She didn’t refuse, picked up her chopsticks, poked at the egg, and accepted it calmly: “Thank you, auntie.”
Chen Xiulian’s eyes crinkled in a smile: “Don’t be polite. Eat, replenish your strength—you worked yourself ragged last night.”
Breakfast ended in this strangely quiet yet subtly tense atmosphere. No sooner had Su Wanning cleared her bowl than a “thump-thump-thump” came from the courtyard gate, heavy and insistent.
“They’re here!” Chen Xiulian hurried to open the door and froze for a moment—it was Old Sun, the village doctor.
Unlike yesterday, he wasn’t sweating profusely. His hands held a bulging blue cloth bag that smelled faintly of herbs—medicine for Huzi. His face was expressionless, stiff, unlike his usual kind demeanor.
“Doctor Sun, what brings you here? Come in, please!” Chen Xiulian stepped aside, though inwardly she was wary—could Old Sun be here to cause trouble?
Old Sun gave a brief “hm” and entered the courtyard, first scanning Su Wanning, who had just stepped out of the house. His gaze was complicated, then he turned to Chen Xiulian: “I’ve come to check on Huzi, and to bring some calming herbs. The child has just returned from the brink; his spirit is unstable. These herbs will stabilize him, to prevent any lingering complications.”
He sounded reasonable, a responsible old doctor fulfilling his duty. Zhang’s family soon arrived with freshly steamed cornbread, expressing profuse thanks: “Doctor Sun, thank you for going out of your way!”
Old Sun waved them off, saying, “It’s my duty,” but his gaze subtly flicked toward Su Wanning, as if he had something on his mind. After exchanging pleasantries with Zhang’s family, he finally addressed the person in question: “Little Comrade Su, come here—I have something to discuss with you.”
His address had changed from “little girl” last night to “Little Comrade Su”—polite, yet carrying an unmistakable scrutinizing weight.
Su Wanning walked over calmly, already guessing the purpose of his visit.
Lu Zhanxiao emerged quietly from the house and stood nearby, eyes wary—he feared Old Sun might bully Su Wanning. Chen Xiulian sat on a small stool beside him, holding her sewing kit, clearly ready to protect her daughter-in-law. Anyone who spoke harshly would face her first.
Old Sun cleared his throat and said bluntly: “I thought about last night all night. That Huzi survived is a great blessing and also his destiny, I won’t deny that.”
But then his tone shifted, growing serious: “However, the methods you used last night, in my view, were sheer nonsense! Pure nonsense!”
The words “sheer nonsense” landed like heavy stones, immediately tightening the air in the courtyard.
Zhang’s family looked awkward and worried, unsure whether to speak—on one hand, the child’s savior; on the other, the village’s respected old doctor. Neither could be offended.
Old Sun ignored the reactions and continued, adopting a lecturing tone: “You, a young girl, embracing and kissing a little boy—what propriety is this? If it spreads, what would people say? And those needles—you targeted them so dangerously and unusually. In my decades of practice, I’ve never seen such risky techniques! One misstep and the child could have been ruined. To be blunt, you were a blind cat stumbling on a dead mouse—pure luck!”
Faced with such near-reproach, Su Wanning didn’t get angry. Her face remained neutral, listening calmly as if it were someone else’s business. When Old Sun finished, she spoke deliberately, clearly, and evenly: “Doctor Sun, you are an elder and the village’s esteemed doctor. I have listened to your words and understand that you are concerned for the child.”
She gave him his due respect, softening his expression slightly, then shifted tone, her voice growing firm: “But may I ask you, Doctor Sun, what was the child’s condition in your eyes last night?”
Old Sun froze. He hadn’t expected her to question him, then raised his head and said confidently: “Naturally, it was acute convulsion with heart failure—dead! I checked his breathing and pulse, nothing—completely dead! No chance of survival!”
“You are correct,” Su Wanning nodded, acknowledging his statement, then began her counterargument: “In traditional Chinese medicine, a child in Huzi’s state is called ‘closed collapse’ (bi jue), caused by excessive phlegm obstructing the flow of qi and clouding the spirit. The key to treatment is to ‘open the orifices and awaken the spirit,’ to unblock the qi and restore clarity.”
Her gaze on Old Sun was clear and resolute, not a hint of fear: “My first needle at Renzhong was to open the orifice and awaken the spirit—basic emergency technique. The second needle at Shixuan was to bleed and release excess heat, preventing heart attack by heat pathogens. The third at Yongquan was to guide qi back to the source, stabilizing his vitality. These needles follow the protocol for treating ‘closed collapse.’ May I ask, Doctor Sun, where in this was dangerous or unusual?”
Old Sun was momentarily speechless. He hadn’t expected this young girl to know TCM theory so thoroughly, explaining it more clearly than he could. Previously, he only found her acupuncture strange, but now hearing her reference ‘closed collapse,’ it suddenly made sense.
He tried to argue: “And those odd actions afterward—pinching the nose, blowing into him, pressing his chest—what kind of medicine is that?”
“You mean the qi transmission and chest compressions?” Su Wanning carefully chose her words, avoiding “artificial respiration” and “CPR” to ensure he could understand. “In TCM, qi is the root of life. Without it, one cannot survive. At that moment, Huzi’s lung qi had ceased, and his pulse was near stop. I transmitted qi to reconnect his lung energy, enabling breathing again. Pressing his chest helped his heart beat, sustaining the pulse. This is called ‘using the living’s qi to continue the dying’s pulse,’ a common method in emergency treatment. Doctor Sun, with your years of experience, you understand this principle better than I do, don’t you?”
Her words reframed modern emergency methods in terms of traditional medicine, making them logical and convincing. Old Sun frowned, doubt creeping in—what he had thought was strange now seemed plausible, not reckless.
Cold sweat appeared on his forehead, his hands gripping the cloth bag. He felt like he wasn’t debating a young girl, but an old doctor whose theoretical knowledge exceeded his own; he now felt like the inexperienced junior.
Su Wanning didn’t stop there. She stepped closer and asked: “Doctor Sun, since you said the child’s pulse had already ceased, may I ask—how did you determine he was truly dead, and not in a state of suspended animation?”
“Truly dead? Suspended?” Old Sun repeated instinctively, confused. “If someone is dead, they’re dead! No breath, no pulse—dead! How can there be a ‘suspension’?”
A faint smile appeared on Su Wanning’s lips, her eyes shining: “There is such a thing as suspended death. Some people, due to drowning, convulsions, or poisoning, may temporarily stop breathing and heartbeat, pulse undetectable, limbs cold—they appear dead, but the brain isn’t truly gone. If treated in time, reconnecting the qi and pulse, they can still survive.”
She paused, voice serious: “Truly dead means the brain is completely unresponsive—no miracle can save them. Doctor Sun, last night you only checked breathing and pulse and declared the child dead. If he was merely ‘suspended,’ wouldn’t that have been taking away his last chance of life?”
Her words struck Old Sun like a hammer, leaving his face pale and his legs unsteady. How had he never considered the possibility of ‘suspended death’? All his life, he had relied on pulse and breathing as the ultimate indicators of life and death—but now, a young girl had shaken that belief, leaving him uneasy.
“I… I…” Old Sun stammered, unable to get a single word out. Sweat poured from his forehead, running down his cheeks and soaking his collar.
Su Wanning didn’t give him a moment to recover. She threw out her final question, sharper this time:
“Doctor Sun, I agree that the child suffered from acute convulsions. But did you know that convulsions come in many types? There’s food-induced, caused by overeating; phlegm-induced, where excess phlegm clouds the spirit; and heat-induced, from excessive internal heat. They can also be acute or chronic, deficient or excess. Each cause requires a completely different treatment; you can’t treat them all the same. Last night, the situation was urgent, yet you didn’t even ask Zhang’s wife what Huzi ate or did before the seizure, and immediately declared him beyond help. Forgive me for saying this—wasn’t that a bit too hasty?”
If her previous questions were heavy hammers, this one was a sharp knife, slicing open the last remnants of pride and dignity in Old Sun. He had practiced medicine for decades, relying on experience, yet he had ignored the most basic principle: treatment based on differentiation. Without understanding the cause, he had pronounced the child unsalvageable—this was undeniably his mistake.
He felt as if decades of medical knowledge were nothing more than a thin sheet of paper, effortlessly pierced by Su Wanning. This wasn’t just a difference in skill—it was a barrier of knowledge he couldn’t comprehend or cross. What she knew, he hadn’t even heard of.
Standing in the middle of the courtyard, drenched in sweat, Old Sun’s face shifted from pale to red, then to blue, and finally drained to a deathly white. He looked at the calm, clear-eyed young woman before him, feeling a mixture of shock, shame, and a strange, unspoken respect.
The neighbors might not understand terms like “closed collapse” or “suspended death,” but they could read expressions—they could see the situation! Old Sun, whom they had always respected, had been rendered speechless by this city girl from Shanghai, sweating and barely able to lift his head. What did that prove? That Su Wanning’s skill was real—so real that even Old Sun had to yield.
The courtyard was silent enough that one could hear a pin drop. Even the rustle of leaves in the wind seemed amplified. Zhang’s family looked at Su Wanning with eyes full of gratitude and admiration, while Li Cuifen and Wang Qin lowered their heads even further, not daring to breathe.
After a long while, Old Sun seemed completely drained, his once-straight posture now bent. He turned to Su Wanning and slowly, solemnly, cupped his hands in respect. Though his movements were slow, they were sincere. For a lifetime, he had rarely bowed his proud head—but now he did.
With a hoarse voice tinged with shame and honesty, he said:
“Miss, I… I am not as skilled as you. My stubbornness and pretense, my doubt toward you—it was my fault. Your medical skills surpass mine by far. I admit it, I yield to you.”
The courtyard erupted with low murmurs of astonishment. No one had expected Old Sun to publicly admit he was inferior to Su Wanning—and apologize!